Hart Matthew walked out of the boardroom, loosening his tie with a sharp tug. The meeting had dragged on for three hours, and his patience was thinner than paper.
"Miss Vance," he called out, striding toward her desk. "I need the file on the acquisition. And get me a coffee."
Silence.
Hart stopped at her desk. It was empty. Her computer was locked. Her jacket was still on the back of the chair, but her purse was gone.
"Where is she?" Hart demanded, turning to the trembling junior assistant at the next desk.
"I… I don't know, sir!" the girl stammered. "A black car came for her about an hour ago. The driver had a uniform. She looked… scared."
"A uniform?" Hart's blood ran cold. He knew only one person who sent uniformed drivers to collect people against their will.
He pulled out his phone and dialed the front desk security.
"Who picked up Eunice Vance?" he barked.
"It was the Estate car, Mr. Matthew," the guard replied nervously. "Your grandmother's personal driver. We thought you authorized it."
Hart didn't answer. He hung up and sprinted toward the elevator.
Grandmother.
His heart hammered against his ribs—not from exertion, but from fear. Madam Matthew was ruthless. She chewed people up and spat them out for sport. If she had taken Eunice, it was to destroy her.
"Damn it!" Hart punched the elevator button repeatedly.
He pulled up the GPS tracker on his phone—not for Eunice, but for the company car she usually took. It was still in the garage. She was on foot.
He dialed her number. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.
"Hello?" Eunice's voice was small, shaky, and sounded like she had been crying.
"Eunice!" Hart shouted, running to his car in the parking garage. "Where are you?"
"I… I'm walking down the hill. Near the old gate."
"Stay there. Do not move. I'm coming."
Hart drove like a madman. He broke every speed limit in the city, swerving through traffic, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
Twenty minutes later, he saw her.
She was walking on the side of the winding road leading away from the Estate. She looked tiny against the towering trees. Her hair was messy, her face pale, and she was clutching her bag to her chest as if it contained the only thing that mattered in the world.
Hart slammed the brakes and threw the car into park. He didn't even turn off the engine before jumping out.
"Eunice!"
She looked up, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. When she saw him, she didn't run away. She crumbled.
"Hart," she sobbed.
He reached her in three strides. He didn't ask questions. He didn't scold her for leaving work. He pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent—vanilla and fear.
"Did she hurt you?" Hart demanded, his voice vibrating against her ear. "Tell me. Did she touch you?"
Eunice shook her head against his shirt, gripping his lapels. "No. She just… she talked. She offered me money."
Hart pulled back, his hands gripping her shoulders, his eyes dark with fury. "Money? To leave?"
"Five million," Eunice whispered. "To leave the city. To leave… you."
Hart let out a curse that made the birds in the trees scatter.
"And you refused?"
"I tore the check up," Eunice said, looking up at him. "I told her I wasn't for sale."
Hart stared at her. He looked at the fierce determination in her tear-filled eyes. In his world, everyone had a price. His friends, his business partners, even Vanessa. Everyone could be bought.
But not Eunice.
Something inside Hart's chest, something cold and hard that had been there for years, finally cracked.
"You idiot," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "You brave, stubborn idiot. You should have taken the money. You would have been safe."
"I don't want to be safe," Eunice said softly. "I want to be here."
Hart looked at her lips. Then at her eyes. The urge to kiss her was overwhelming. It was a tidal wave. But he saw how she was trembling, and he forced himself to stop.
"Get in the car," Hart said gently, opening the passenger door for her. "I'm taking you home."
"To my apartment?" Eunice asked.
"No," Hart said, his jaw tightening as he looked back up the hill toward the mansion. "You're not safe alone. Not while she knows about you. You're coming back to the penthouse."
"Hart, I can't—"
"Get in the car, Eunice," he ordered, but his hand lingered on her back, warm and protective. "I am not asking."
As they drove away, Hart's phone rang. The Caller ID flashed: Grandmother.
Hart didn't answer. He rolled down the window and threw the phone out onto the asphalt, watching it shatter in the rearview mirror.
He reached over and took Eunice's hand, lacing his fingers through hers.
"Let her try," Hart vowed quietly. "Let them all try. No one touches you again."